


Murdocks Never Quit

by Lluvia185, Pikkulef



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Gen, Tumblr Prompt, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2019-10-23 09:43:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17681078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lluvia185/pseuds/Lluvia185, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pikkulef/pseuds/Pikkulef
Summary: Instead of being killed, Jack Murdock ends up in a coma and he wakes up almost 20 years later.prompt by @lluvia185 on Tumblr





	1. Chapter 1

There had been changes to his father's state, lately.

 

Matt didn't know if he was supposed to alert the medical team.

 

He would, but there was a part of him that was convinced it was a sign that the end was near. He didn't want confirmation. But for the last week, he had been coming to Jack's bedside every day, instead of every week.

 

He had been doing so for nearly 20 years. Sometimes, especially during his teenage years, it was because Father Lantom made him do so. He didn't want to. He didn't want to be there, in the hospital, with all these aggressive smells, all these people in pain, and worst of all, his Dad, lifeless, all that made him himself gone, apart from the smell of his hair and his still beating heart.

 

Murdocks never quit. Jack’s heart never did.

 

And Matt had never let his father down when he could. He was always there, every Sunday evening. When in college, Foggy even walked him to the hospital and back from time to time. This was no secret. As in all situations, Foggy had been his support, an anchor, and he would never thank him enough for his silent wait at the hospital doors, every Sunday.

 

But there had been changes to the beating of Jack’s heart, the last few times Matt had visited. Jack had breathed differently; his heart had beaten erratically. The machines monitoring all this were long gone, since he had been stable for years. These fits weren’t noted by the staff.  

 

Matt didn't want to be away, if anything should happen. He wanted to be there and hold his father's hand a last time. He had mixed feelings about this.

 

And so he was there. Sat on the same chair, a pile of files to review for Nelson, Murdock and Page on his knees, his cane on his side and his glasses in his shirt pocket. For some reason, he always took them off when he was with his Dad.

 

The winter wind howled outside, but inside it was past visit hours, and very calm, all patients sleeping or sedated, or comatose, nurses chattering around a corner, peacefully. Matt just had to try and ignore the ever stinging chemical smells.

 

And suddenly, it happened again. His father's heart started racing. His breathing started being sharper, faster. Matt put his files aside and dragged his chair closer, taking his dad's hand, closing his eyes and praying for this not to be the end, not yet.

 

**

Jack panicked at first. But there was a hand holding his. A big hand, warm, and he concentrated on it. He pulled on it to get himself out, as he had been trying for days. Hung onto this hand as if it was his last chance. He needed to get out, Matt needed him.

 

What would happen to his boy if he left him alone? He had to get back.

 

Jack opened his eyes in a dark room, only lit from the corridor through the open door, and the streetlamps from outside. It took him a while to get his bearings. And realize he was in a hospital.

 

The hand was still holding his. When he turned his head, slowly, he saw the hand belonged to a stranger.

 

A man, relatively young. Well dressed. Fancy suit and tie. He had never seen this man. But somehow, he felt like he knew him. It was a very strange feeling. He tried to rattle his memory to understand who this man could be. It was hard. Everything was blurry and hard to reach. The sole thought occupying his mind was Matt. He had to know if Matt was okay.

 

The man had a surprised expression on his face… No. Not surprised. Totally staggered. His mouth and eyes were opened widely. The eyes… Looking out for clues, Jack spotted the white cane against the wall. This man was blind, like Matt.

 

Matt.

Jack tried to talk.

My son. Where’s my son. Is he alright.

 

But nothing got out.

 

And suddenly the stranger’s arms were around his shoulders. That man he didn’t know was hugging him. But what surprised him most was what he was saying.

 

“Oh my God. Dad. Dad, you’re back. You’re back. Oh, thank God. I can’t…”

 

The man was crying, holding Jack, his deep sobs shaking him. Jack couldn’t escape, and didn’t know what to do with this grown man blubbering on his shoulder. He tried to pat him on the back, but his arms felt like they weighted tons.

 

He had called him Dad.

 

Jack tried again.

“Where’s my son? Where’s Matt?”

 

**

His voice was feeble and croaky. Matt could hear it, but wasn’t sure anyone else could have. It wasn’t Jack’s voice, rather a pale copy of it, talked by an old man. But it was him. It was his way of dragging some parts of the words, the way he talked about him. No mistaking, even in these few words. Even after all these years. 

 

Matt had a hard time processing this. He was there. Talking. Asking about him… of course he didn’t recognize him.

“It’s me.” Matt himself had trouble speaking. He was still crying and yet smiling through it, and he couldn’t stop it. “It’s me. I’m Matt. I’m your son.

 

“No, you can’t…” Jack stopped. Matt understood he was looking at him, and wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

“You’ve been… asleep… for a… long while, Dad. This is… this is a damn miracle.

“Language.” This had been out from Jack’s mouth without thinking, obviously, as he continued, dumbfounded, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what – ” but his voice becoming stronger with every word.

 

Matt was laughing. He couldn’t help the roaring laughter that came out of his chest, not more than he could help the tears from flowing again.

“You’re back! You’re back for real! I would never have thought…”

But the laughing died quickly. Jack’s heart was still erratic, and all Matt could feel from his Dad was fear and incomprehension, not the joy and love that had suddenly surged in himself.  

 

“You can’t be my son.

“I’m sorry… I… Maybe I should get someone – ”

“Come closer.” Jack gestured as Matt was getting up, or rather tried to gesture for him, but didn’t forget to tell him. “Come near, get your face close”. Matt complied, wiping his eyes again before approaching once more. A little click informed him that Jack had found the bedside table and had lit the lamp to study him better.

 

“You can’t be…” Jack painfully brought his right hand – the left wouldn’t move – to Matt’s face, his fingers barely touching Matt’s stubble. “You can’t be…”.

 

Matt couldn’t help but start crying again under the touch of his father’s fingers. For so long, little Matt had dreamed about his dad waking up. Then he had worked to push this idea far from his conscious thoughts. It was going nowhere. But he still craved a hug, a touch from his dad. He had been missing him. So much. He closed his eyes, wincing, trying to stop the pouring of his feelings.    
  


“I’m sorry.”   
  


Matt tried to calm down, and tried to get up to fetch someone – anyone, to check if his dad was okay, to help and tell him what to do, what to say to him. But Jack eventually touched his cheek and this made him stay in place, his own heart racing in his ears. He could hear Jack’s beating so hard in his skinny chest, he was afraid for him. But he didn’t move. He couldn’t move.

 

**

The stranger – Matt ? Could it be him ? but how long – wiped his eyes once again, this time with his hands closed in fists, like a tired child. A memory flashed of Matt doing the same exact gesture one night, not long after the accident, at this time when Jack didn’t know what to do or say to ease his pain, and would just hold him, telling him things were going to be okay, trying to convince himself too in the process.

 

The image faded away as the stranger faced him, trying to keep his eyes level. The colour of these eyes. Their shape. It couldn’t be him, yet there was so much of Maggie in these eyes.

 

It couldn’t be him, right? 

 

Jack looked at his own hand on the stranger’s face. So pale, so thin. So… old.

 

“You’ve still got your mother’s eyes.”

 

**

The voice was slow, the words deliberately enounced. There would be a lot of work to do for him. But he was there. And he at least tried to understand. 

 

“Yes,” Matt tried not to crumble again. All at the same time, he wanted to scream, cry, and laugh. The irony of finding out who Maggie was just months earlier, and now this… “Yes,” he swallowed, “yes, I know.”

 

“Matt… What the hell happened?” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was NOT expecting this response. So thank you to all who read, left kudos, bookmarked and commented, or did all (I love you lol). You're why I managed to make this (shorter) second chapter, and I hope you like it. 
> 
> Contrary to the first chapter, this had been beta by Quietshade.  
> Any left language mistake is on me (not a native English speaker AND I do not speak it out loud regularly haha)
> 
> Hope it lives up to expectations :)

Matt couldn’t answer. He was sure he’d already talked too much, uncovered too much for his father’s brain to compute at once, and he had left him, as hard as it had been. He’d assured Jack he would come back, and stepped out, reluctantly letting go of his hand, keeping an ear on his quickening heartbeat. Jack didn't want him to go either. But he had to. Just for a minute. 

 

His knees gave way a few steps after he had left the room. He caught himself against the wall. He had to take in deep, slow, but staggering breaths. 

 

His father was back. His dad was back and he was fine. As far as he could tell. As fine as he could ever have dreamt. 

 

Gingerly trying to walk straight again at first, he increased his speed while keeping a hand on the wall to secure his balance, and hailed a nurse he could hear at the next corner. He realized right then he had forgotten his cane in the room in his confusion. He kept his hand firmly on the wall. 

 

He was out of breath, and had to start twice what he had to say. The nurse rushed past him to the room, and all he could do was follow. 

 

The following hour brought many people to the room, a lot of talking, of noise, of confusion, of questions asked again and again, to him, to Jack. Eventually, Jack was exhausted, and the medical team firmly guided Matt out, assuring him he could come back the next day. 

 

Matt found himself alone on the pavement, the cold wind rushing through his clothes, messing his hair. Slowly, dreamily, he fished for his glasses in his shirt pocket and put them on his nose. He felt his watch. Ten thirty. It  _ was _ late. 

 

Still in this off state, he walked home, not really aware of his surroundings, all his thoughts on his father. On all the things he was going to tell him. The ones which he would tell happily. And the other things. The ones he would rather not. 

 

He thought about calling Karen, and went as far as dialing her number - but he hung up at the first sound of the tone. Not Karen. She would be very happy for him. But Karen and family… It was complicated matter. He didn't want to wave his happiness to her face, after he had just learnt about what she had been through with her own. Besides, they had their own, personal  relationship matters to go through first. This was too much for her to deal with at the moment. Maybe it was also too much for him, too. One thing at a time. 

 

Foggy? Foggy would get it. He had, after all, been there all these years, and knew what Matt had been through and his feelings, or at least part of them, about his dad. Family was very important for Foggy. There was always a brother or a sister or one of his parents somewhere near, that he could count on. In fact… Maybe it was too much for him, too. Maybe family was too important for Foggy, while for Matt… it was important. But it was also a lot more… messy. He needed someone who could understand both sides. Someone he could talk with who would really share his joy, but would understand the pain he had been through. The whole pain. 

 

He was home when he decided to call the right number. He left his cane and glasses next to the door, and sat in the sofa, his phone in hand. The dial tone rang for a long time in his ear. Then a young voice answered, sounding slightly irritated. 

“Saint Agnès Orphanage.

“Hello. I'm sorry to call this late. Could I… could I speak to Sister Maggie, please? 

“I'll get her for you. Who is this? 

“Matt. Matt Murdock.”

There was the sound of the novice putting the receiver down, then faint footsteps and their echo in corridors he knew all too well, even altered through the line and years. The memories these sounds brought back hit him hard. Back then, what would he have given for his father to wake up... 

 

He waited. He didn't know what to say. He almost hung up a first time. Maybe it was better for him to keep it to himself for now, to deal with all the thoughts he had now on his own, and not to bother her. They had, her and him, so many things to deal with already, so many words left untold. But she deserved to know, right? 

 

He kept his phone in hand. But he couldn't help thinking about it, while he heard faint, unidentifiable sounds through the phone, waiting to hear the distinct clatter of steps on hard stone. 

 

How would she react? She had offered to be his confident, to be his guide in his faith like Father Lantom had been, but nothing more. She had tended to his wounds, mostly physical, some spiritual, some mental. But not the oldest of them. Maybe one of the deepest. This one they would not touch yet. Did he have a right to call her at this time, to take her away from her duties to children who needed her, when he was a grown man, grown up without her all these years, did he have a right to call to keep her for himself for a while? She was his mother. But she wasn't his mom. 

 

He almost hung up a second time when foot steps came back. Different footsteps. Hurrying footsteps. 

 

“Matthew,” Sister Maggie quickly took the phone and the lead of the conversation, “what is it? Do I need to get my stitching kit ready again?”

Matt smiled at these words and the tone she had. Then found himself unable to answer. His throat wouldn't let the words out. 

“Matthew? Are you alright? 

“I'm okay.” He swallowed. His voice was trembling, just like the hand that was holding his phone. He realized he was pulling on the fabric of his shirt with the other one and stopped, before tearing it down. He held his knee instead. To the point it hurt. 

“You don't - 

“It's Dad.” He swallowed again. “It's  _ Jack _ .”

“Oh no -

“He… He woke up. He woke up.” Matt started crying again, silently. On the other side of the line, Maggie stayed silent. Matt took his time to calm down. Again. Maggie was still silent, but he picked up muffled sounds. She might be crying too. He marveled at the thought of such a tough woman crying, which made him slightly uncomfortable at the same time. He tried to speak again, his voice sounding strange, too high pitched, through his tightened throat. 

“It's a fucking miracle. 

“Language, Matthew.” 

 

Matt lost it. The hysterical laughter that took him was both nervous and genuine. He couldn't stop it, but managed to put his phone further away from his face, effectively making it impossible for Maggie to hear through the hands he had pressed against his mouth. It was too much. Tears flowed again. 

 

“Is this how you thank your God for such a gift? Matthew?” 

The shock he could hear in Maggie's voice sobered him instantly. She was trembling, he could tell even on the phone, her teeth shattering through her imperceptibly staggered speech. He took in a deep breath. This night was the most insane he had ever lived through. And he had high grounds to compare it to. He sighed, pushing all the thoughts away, only keeping his father in mind. 

 

It was a good thought. 

“I'm sorry, Sister.” He breathed. He wasn't really ready to call her anything else, but… “Maggie. 

“Can we…? 

“Tomorrow, maybe. Now he is sleeping. He was exhausted. But coherent. I think… I... I think he understood…”

Maggie cut him off before he started crying again. 

“Matthew.” She had regained her composure, and was speaking slowly. It reminded him of those times, where she would come to soothe him at night. It worked then. It seemed to work now. 

“I think I am going to the church, to pray. Would you like to join me? 

“I would love to.”

He hung up, and sat silently, unmoving, for a short while. He took in a deep breath, and held it in. Then he let it all out in a sigh, put his glasses back on, and he was out of his flat, walking the same dream-like step he had coming in.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't feel like bothering anyone for beta-ing this, so please let me know if you spot mistakes ! Thank you :)

Sister Maggie had met Matt in front of the church. She had said nothing, then ever so briefly hugged him, and turned to get back inside. 

Matt was so surprised, he stayed for a short while in the wind, before following suit. 

 

They prayed. Sat next to each other in a corner, near the altar. Maggie was muttering, at the limit of the audible, again and again. Matt stayed silent, keeping it to himself. Time felt like it stopped. The sound of the beads softly clinking as Sister Maggie told her rosary soothed Matt, made him feel like he was finding his bearings, getting some peace. Finally. 

 

His father was back. 

 

Some time, long or short, he couldn't tell, later, he got shaken out of this state of almost meditation by a soft noise. He tilted his head as quick footsteps approached from outside the church. From the corridor that linked it to the Orphanage. Soon enough, an old wooden door creaked on their right. 

“I'm sorry, sister Maggie…”

The whisper sounded like the novice he'd had on the phone earlier, all irritation replaced by urgency. And reverence. 

“It's Tommy. He's really… He won't calm down. I know you’ve asked me not to disturb you tonight, but…”

Matt felt Maggie stand up on his left. She opened her mouth, then closed it. He caught her hand. 

“Go. This child needs you.” He pressed her hand. He meant it. “I won't keep you from him. Thank you for praying with me, sister. It was good.”

Maggie said nothing. She let out a sigh, and before she left, her hand found Matt's cheek, and stayed there for a time long enough for Matt to close his eyes. Then she disappeared. 

 

He found himself once again alone on the pavement, in empty streets. A deep calm had now replaced his boiling thoughts, and he headed to his home, but he couldn’t go to sleep just yet. 

 

Time for a change, he was on his rooftop. Crouched on the edge, listening. Waiting. The night was supernaturally calm, save for the wind playing with his uncovered hair. It wasn't even 2. Yet there were very few people on the streets, or even awake, around. 

He was mentally thanking the people of Hell's Kitchen for this respite, when he heard some sort of muffled cry, two blocks or so away. Not exactly sure of  _ where _ , there, with the wind playing in between the buildings, crossing streets, distorting all sounds. But he would go and find it. He pulled his mask over his face and leaped, hoping it was a false alarm. For once in a relatively long time, he didn't really feel like hurting people tonight. 

 

But of course, someone was already hurt. 

It had taken him slightly longer than usual to pinpoint the location of it. He reached the edge of a rooftop, taking care not to be seen from down there. He positioned himself under the wind to get the information he needed. Four men, wearing leather jackets - the smell and noise was unmistakable. They also smelled like beer, cigarette smoke. Sweat… And… they needed a shower, like, last month. Some of those bikers, that gang that had been roaming around. One or two of them smelled of something like heroin - Matt wouldn't be surprised if they had some neatly sealed plastic bags with the same substance in it on them. They had a little business he would have to investigate further, now that Fisk was out of the landscape. 

Two other men, cornered. One, or maybe the two of them bleeding. 

Matt heard a chain clinking, then one of the four spat invectives at the two others, that made him pinpoint what was happening. 

Well, not on his watch. 

 

The fight was relatively quick. He silently climbed down and creeped behind the gang men - the heartbeat of the two victims accelerated. They had seen him. Matt caught and yanked the chain that was dangling from one of the bikers wrists, pulling up until he heard a distinctive crack. 

One down. 

The others had eventually noticed him while he was breaking the first man's arm, and fell on him. He used the now free chain to fight back, dodging as many hits as he could while placing his own where they would hurt the most. One man took a foot to the stomach which laid him down for good,  another a slap of the chain across the face, that likely broke his nose, judging from the sound of it. Matt was turning to take care of the last one when a punch landed on his temple, hard enough to unbalance him and throw him down. He had been too slow. He was distracted. 

Matt got up on his feet as fast as he could, and fought back. The last gang member wasn't that much of a fighter - his first punch had been pure luck. He was down after a few blows. 

 

Keeping his ears to the men on the ground, he turned, wiped the blood coming from a cut in his mouth, and yelled at the two bewildered men against the wall to find the nearest precinct and ask for detective Mahoney. 

 

Then he ran home. Now, maybe, he could sleep. 


	4. Chapter 4

His night was agitated. He kept waking up from dreams of his childhood. Some of them where could still see. His dad, looking so tall from his child’s eyes, helping him with his homework, carrying him on his shoulder and making him laugh. Yelling at him because he had been in a fight at school. His brain was seemingly jumping from memory to memory, not all in order. There was one where he was chatting with his dad, about random mundane things. There, Jack looked the way Matt had always remembered in his, now quite faded, visual memory. But there was something wrong about him. To Matt, he felt small. Fragile. Old. It didn’t fit with this image he had of him. And just as, still in his dream, he realized he was remembering the way it had felt to hug him just hours prior, his dad disappeared. As well as his sight. 

He was alone. Like he had been for so long. 

 

He woke up disoriented and covered in sweat. But before he did anything, before even getting out of bed, he reached for his phone and called the hospital. 

 

The woman who answered him had a professional voice, but with an empathetic tone. She told him she understood, but… 

“I'm sorry, you can't see him this morning. Doctors want to test him, and try to help him get over the fact that it's been years - 

“Twenty.” his own voice sounded hoarse. He cleaned his throat. “Over twenty years. 

“Yes. They want to do it slowly. 

“Is he okay? Did I… Did I make it worse by telling him who I was? 

“Honestly, he is as fine as he could be. Way better than we could ever have expected. Leave him some time. Call again this afternoon and I'll see what I can do, okay? 

“I will. Thank you.”

Matt hung up with a sigh. It was 8am. Better go to work, then. 

He didn't know if he was ready to tell them. But he had said it, right? No more lies. Not talking about it would be to lie by omission. Didn’t stand well in court. He walked to the shower. 

 

*

“WOW. Look at who's here, and at this hour!”

Foggy was sharing a coffee with Karen in the biggest room, right at the door. They had had dividing walls built up, and the place made to look like an actual office instead of a repurposed gym. But in this room they kept most of the traces on the walls, posters, flags, and paint, as it were. “ _ Fits us. Keeps the core feeling of it. It's, like, our roots. _ ” Foggy had said. The office rooms were still in works, so they shared the middle room all together, for now. Foggy couldn't wait to see it finished. He was telling so to Karen as Matt opened the door. 

He was so surprised, he didn’t register there was something wrong. 

 

Karen noticed immediately. Matt looked… Off. He had a severe bruise on his left temple, and a split lip. She got up and started walking towards him. 

“You okay, Matt? Got out last night? 

“Uh, yeah, I'm - how do you know?” he was more surprised than suspicious. Caught off guard. Matt took his time to lay his cane against the wall and take off his jacket, but he didn't take off his glasses, as he usually did, now. Karen still had to get used to this “new” Matt, but today was different. He did look off balance, somehow. As if his mind was elsewhere. And him keeping his glasses - that was a sign she had learnt to notice. 

 

“Big bruise on your face, man.” Foggy was quicker than her “Better all brainstorm what it is this time, fell down the stairs or walked into a door, so we can all have consistent explanations, should some be needed.” He paused, then used a more serious tone: “Was it for some good? 

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so.” Matt stopped there, in the middle of the room, seemingly thinking. When he talked again, he looked upset. 

“That bruise… Is It big? Like very visible?” He brought his hand to feel the side of his face. He slid his fingers against his temple, under the branch of his glasses. “It didn't feel swollen. 

“It's not swollen, you're just purple. Kinda noticeable. 

“Shit.” Matt sighed and shook his head. Karen walked up and put a hand on his shoulder and was going to talk, when Foggy scoffed: 

“What, man, got a date tonight or something?” 

 

This was an obvious joke, but both Matt and Karen tensed up. Karen took her hand off Matt’s shoulder, only for him to take it in his. 

“No. Not a date. I have… I guess I have something to tell you. Both of you, but I think, Foggy…” 

 

Foggy got up. Matt willingly talking about his feelings, or life in general, was something huge, and he didn't want him to feel like he didn't care. He cast a glance at Karen, who looked as thrown out as he felt. They both closed in on Matt, not too close as to let him breathe, but showing they were there, listening. Concerned. 

“It's, uh. Foggy, my father woke up. 

“ _ What? For real ? _

“ _ Wait, your father is alive?”  _

Karen and Foggy talked over each other. 

 

She took a step back as Foggy pulled Matt into a bear hug. 

“Oh my God, Matt!” Foggy patted Matt’s back, his voice quivering. “This is such great news! I'm so happy for you, man. My God… This is… unhoped for! Fuck's sake, man…” Foggy broke the hug, keeping Matt at arm’s length, studying him, and immediately changed his tone. “Hey… Here, take a seat, buddy.” 

He guided Matt to his chair - coming back to his old habits. But maybe it was needed just then. Karen was still trying to process it all. 

 

Matt let himself be pushed around and sat. He took off his glasses and wiped his eyes - but didn’t put his glasses back on, keeping them in his hand.    
“Sorry. Everytime I let myself think about it for real - I can’t help it.”  He had a soft, sad smile as Foggy patted his shoulder yet again. 

 

Karen felt that smile, even if not directed at any of them in particular, melt her heart. Some time ago, she would have felt angry. Now she was happy he had come up and told them right away about it. It wasn’t like she had immediately spilled everything about her family to him either… She tried to talk. 

“I thought… You never mentioned your father much, so I concluded…  I thought you said… 

“I said he was shot. He was. Ended up in a coma. Until now.” Matt answered somewhat hastily. “There was a lot going on… I would have told you. Later. If we had…” Matt, still sat, reached out to take both her hands in his. He had kept his head low at first, but turned his head towards her now. He blinked, some tears in his eyes still.    
“It just…    
“Wasn't relevant. I know. Don't worry, Matt.” Karen pressed Matt’s hands. 

 

“So, when do we get to meet your old man for real, then? With all I’ve heard about him, he’s practically a legend to me, you know? 

“That’s the thing, he… I couldn’t see him this morning. I have to wait for this afternoon.” Matt tried to get his hands back, but Karen kept them in hers. He swallowed, ill at ease. After all this time were he had felt dreadfully alone, suddenly so many people were getting a new importance in his life. He was thankful for it, but didn’t know if he was able to handle it.    
  
“Since when is he awake?” Karen had taken her softest voice. Matt closed his eyes.    
“Yesterday evening.    
“Did they tell you right away?   
“I was there.”   
There was a pause. Foggy’s hand stopped on Matt’s shoulder.    
“Oh, shit, man. That’s why you’re so… did he recognize you? Was he okay?    
“He was fine. That, I could tell. Physically. He could talk. I wouldn’t even have hoped... He didn’t recognize me at first, then I think he did. But it - it had a bad effect on him. He was so distressed -    
“Dude. It’s normal, okay? Your Dad didn’t expect your to be all grown up.” Foggy paused, trying to assess if he could go on. “Besides, he probably didn’t expect you to grow up to be that handsome either.”

  
Matt scoffed. Karen let go of his hands, and her too, placed her hand on his shoulder.    
“Go this afternoon, we’ll be waiting here for you if you want to celebrate afterwards. And don't worry, I'm sure he won't notice the bruise."


	5. Chapter 5

Jack's morning had been difficult, to say the least. Physically, as he had to go through all the tests to see what was still working… And what wasn't. To him, there wasn’t much to be proud of. His legs wouldn't be able to support his own weight, even if he managed to stay up (for now he didn't), but the worst was his left arm, still unresponsive. Southpaws got it harder, they said. Well it was even harder when said southpaw wouldn’t move.

No matter how many times the doctors had told him he was a walking (hah!) miracle, this was frustrating at best. Distressing. He had lived all his life counting on his body to do the work. He was a physical man. And now his body betrayed him. His body was old. Tired. Out of use.

But the hardest, he found, was all the new things he had to understand and process.Twenty years… there was a lot. But he had kept the most important question to himself.

He’d been transferred between services around midday, towards a brighter room in a quieter aisle of the hospital. There, he had been welcomed by a short, sturdy nurse with curly black hair and bright, soft blue eyes, who presented herself as Corina. She looked nice enough. Dependable and strong. So he thought he could ask. He wasn't sure if it hadn't all been a dream.

His voice was still hoarse, somehow. And words took a long time to form.

“This man. Who was here yesterday. Is he really my son?

“Oh,” She replied, as she was putting some more cushion under his head so he could at least stand a little. “I haven’t seen him, I am sorry, I don't know…”   
She stayed for a short while on the side of his bed, thinking, looking at him. Jack wanted her to stop. To look elsewhere. There was nothing to look at. Just a ruin of a human being. He felt decrepit, past his time. But she seemed not to notice.

“Wait, maybe I can help. Nowadays with social media you can find pictures of virtually everyone on the Web. But this will stay between us, I'm not supposed to use my phone during service, you know.

“Social what?”

The nurse waved away his question. “What's your son's name?

“Matt. Matthew Murdock.

“Alright, let me see.”

The nurse pulled out a big plastic square from a pocket under her scrub and tapped on it. Jack had seen people use these “phones” - how was this a phone? This looked nothing like it - all morning.

“My son is blind, I doubt he can use -

“Oh! My god. Of course.” There was surprise on the nurse’s face, only surprise, followed by a big smile, but Jack still felt a pang of fear. For Matt. Maybe he didn’t remember well and the man yesterday was someone else. It could very well be. It had all felt rather… weird.  

“What ? What's wrong?

“Nothing's wrong. Here he is, that's an old newspaper pic. Matt Murdock, on the left. Is he the man you saw yesterday?”

She handed him the plastic square, and he almost let it fall, trying to catch it with his right hand only.

It was a picture of three people, posing for the camera. On the left, undoutebly the man he had seen the day before, with round sunglasses and slightly longer hair, a white cane in his hand. So that, that was Matt indeed. He had not lied. And he had recognized him.

Yesterday felt a little blurry. But he remembered Matt had cried. And his eyes. They were hidden on the picture, but he remembered these eyes.

Matt was fine. Jack let out a big sigh. He had managed without him. He felt a mix of pride and sadness. He had missed so much.

Jack shook off these thoughts. There was no need to go all sentimental about this. He looked at the picture as a whole. The two other people were a breezy man who badly needed a haircut, and a blonde woman who looked as if she had been dragged in the picture almost against her will. She looked beautiful, with a shy smile. His eyes turned back to Matt. He was smiling too. His left hand was on the other man's shoulder. They looked close.

“It's him. He was there yesterday.

“Mr Murdock.” The nurse closed in on him, a broad smile on her face. “If this is your son, you have to be proud of him. He is a hero for us. This picture dates three-four years ago. His law firm took down one of the most powerful criminal in this corner of the city, and put him in jail.

“He's a lawyer?

“Uh-huh. The three of them did this. And the best part, is that they did it again, not 6 months ago. Your son wasn't on the pictures. But the blond man was - and he cited his name. Now that we're talking about it, I also remembered the name, Nelson and Murdock, they did a lot of help in Hell's Kitchen. Represented people for free. They helped one of my sisters escape her husband. Then they closed off… but I'm sure he's found a good place, people here would hire him. Your son, Mr Murdock, is a saint for Hell's Kitchen.”

Jack only listened with one ear, and wanted to look again at the picture in his hand, but the screen had turned black. His throat felt tight. He handed the phone back to the nurse without a word then stroked his chin.

“I'm sorry.” The nurse was concerned. “Maybe I shouldn't have -

“No, it's alright. Thank you.”

The nurse smiled again, and got out, leaving him alone. She was smart.

Jack took a deep breath, and when he expired, it wasn't that steady. Matt. All he had accomplished. His last memory of him was him struggling with finding his way around with his cane. Braille had been easy, but he was always too distracted outside. He claimed to hear things… too many things. And now… Look where he got.   
A hero for Hell’s Kitchen.

Jack had a small smile for himself.

***

Foggy had ordered some lunch for the three of them, but Matt couldn’t eat anything. In fact, the smell of spaghetti and meatballs Foggy had chosen was sickening him.

It seemed Karen had noticed. She didn’t talk much, but was extra considerate with him.   
“Want some water?   
“Please.”   
Karen took his glass to the sink, and came back with it full. She handed it back to him. “Maybe you can call, now ?   
“I’m not sure. They got enough work on their hands, there. I don’t want to harrass them, if now’s still not the right time. Also, I don’t want to exhaust him.”   
Matt sensed Karen shake her head. “You’re not going to be able to do anything more here, with the state you’re in.   
“Still did more work than Foggy, this morning.” He smirked.   
“You know I’m not deaf, right?   
“No, not with how much you talk on the phone. We’d make such a team, though.   
“Hah, look at the boy making jokes now. Eating got you feeling better.”   
Karen threw a fake punch at Foggy.  “He didn’t even touch his ravioli, Foggy. Leave him alone.  
  
“Know what,” Matt got up and put his glasses on. “I’ll go either way, so I won’t have you two nannies over my back.” He was smiling, but it was uncertain. He grabbed his jacket and cane and got ready to leave when Foggy threw something soft and perfumed at him. He caught it. Thickly weaved silk. It smelled like spring flowers.   
“Nanny number one says it’s windy outside and you should take a scarf, young man.   
“Who’s scarf is that? Foggy?” Matt said with a mock frown, but he knew better. He felt his cheeks getting hot. He loved that perfume.   
“We all know you know it’s mine. I don’t thank you, Foggy, now I’m the one who will catch a cold.” Karen laughed. Then she turned to Matt. “Keep it. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. Too much to do. Enjoy your time with your father.”

Matt wrapped the scarf around his neck and nodded to his friends before leaving. The smell entwined in the fabric both made him giddy and gave him more strength.  
Maybe she knew it would.


	6. Chapter 6

“I think he's asleep."

“Oh.” Matt's heart sunked. He'd been expecting too much. He'd been bounced from service to service, and had to bargain for the nurses to let him find his way alone - they were busy enough and he didn't really need them. There were, in fact, Braille plans and tags on doors. This wasn’t an outright lie.  
And now he was there, for nothing. But of course, his father would be exhausted by all the fuss. “Should I come back later?  
“You can stay, if you want. He's fallen asleep a while ago, maybe he'll wake up soon. It'll make him happy to see you back.”  
Matt frowned.  
“Have we met?  
“You and me? No, but he asked about you.  
“Oh.” This unsettled Matt. What had he asked about? And what did he learn? “Uh, can I get in, then?” The nurse had guided him to the door.  
“Do you want some help?  
“No thanks, I'll be fine.” He couldn't remember how many times he had said this in the last hour.  
“There's a chair on the left, around 10 o’clock, a few steps behind the door. Can't miss it.  
“I won't. Thanks.”

Matt pushed the door, noticing his father wasn’t, in fact, asleep. His heart had spiked when Matt had pushed the door, and he had moved his head. But he didn’t let out any sound… the nurse had not come in, so she didn’t notice, and Jack was bound to have heard their conversation right in front of the door.

Matt was stuck.

He used his cane to locate the chair he was perfectly aware was on the left side of the bed, his father’s right side. 10 o’clock indeed. He tried not to make too much noise, as he would have done if Jack had been asleep.  
  
He had sworn to himself he would stop lying to his loved ones. Yet here he was. Awkwardly patting a chair he knew stood there, under the gaze of his father. His face was directed towards him, following his moves. He could swear he felt Jack’s gaze, the one he had for him when he came back home too late, or too dirty, or - bruised and bloody - disheveled. He felt his cheeks burn, and took off the scarf, trying to pass it like he just was feeling too hot with it. He sat, and folded his cane then placed it on the ground, near the chair.

Seemed deception was something that ran in the family, right? Jack was there, not signalling himself to a blind man. His son. He knew he was, now. Matt felt bitter. Why do this? But could he really complain about it when he was doing the exact same thing right now? His father was, unknowingly, giving him a taste of his own medicine.

He was still sitting, tying the scarf to the chair’s backrest, when Jack spoke.

  
“Didn’t I teach you to say hello when entering a room and someone else’s in it?”   
Matt didn’t have to feign his surprise. He jumped, letting the scarf fall to the ground. He picked it up, abashed, feeling ashamed for not seeing it coming, and… an old feeling, that one that rose when he was being caught. Doing bad things or not, this shame was always there. And his father’s voice woke it up.

  
“I was told you were sleeping.” Matt let out, a little guarded. Then he thought. This was typical Jack, wasn’t it? Yes, it was. He had been cut off from him for so long, he didn’t remember his behavior. This was his way of greeting him, of letting him know he knew who he was, and that he would take on his role as a father.   
Matt smiled. And talked back. “You didn’t exactly help me, there.   
“I’m sorry, I was… Looking at you.” Matt hated his senses as he heard his father’s voice quiver, ever so slightly, and he knew that without them he wouldn’t have noticed. He felt Jack shake his head, getting his bearings back. His voice was strong again: “You’ve grown up. So much.   
Matt didn’t really know what to say. He let out a soft chuckle and shrugged. “I guess so.   
“And I’ve aged.” Jack got suddenly somber. Matt wasn’t used to his father’s voice transpiring all these emotions, most of all all at the same time. He tried to be smooth.   
“You’re in a pretty great shape for someone who was in a coma for so long. At least I’m told.   
“Yeah, I can’t walk, I can’t move my left arm…   
“Give it time.” Well, if his father was anything like him, this was not going to help... But Matt didn’t really know what else to say.   
“So they tell me…”   
  
Silence, uncomfortable silence, fell. Matt didn’t know what to say to start conversation, didn’t know what to talk about. What do you say to your father you lost at age nine? Twenty years ago? What do you talk about? … where do you start? Matt shook his head, waiting for Jack to make the first step. If he had questions he would answer them… up to a point. But he was, once again, at a loss for words. There were things he felt, things he would like to say, but couldn't. Hearts to hearts weren't really a forte in their family, they didn't speak that much when Matt was young anyway. Not about that kind of things. 

Silence dragged on, Matt on his chair, all too conscious of his father’s eyes on him. He didn’t need his amped up senses to know that. After a painful while, he heard Jack clear his throat.

“So… I’m told you’re a lawyer.” Jack started awkwardly.    
“Yeah.” Matt nodded, encouraging him.     
“Got your own practice, too.   
“Not anymore - wait, in fact, yeah.” Matt chuckled, embarrassed. “Well… it’s complicated. I just started off again.   
“You lost your job?   
“Told you, it’s complicated. I had… I left my old practice. And now… I’m back.   
“Oh, I saw a picture. A man and a woman. Both blond. Well, that won’t help you much…   
“Nah, I know who you are talking about.” The smile on Matt’s face broadened. “That’s them. Foggy and Karen.   
“Foggy?” Jack sounded incredulous, but it also sounded like Matt’s smile was contagious. “What kind of a name is that?   
“It’s a nickname. His real name is Franklin.     
“Oh, go for Foggy then, yeah.”   
Matt laughed. The atmosphere warmed up - Foggy always had this effect, and now, even when he wasn't actually there. Matt would have to tell him that.   
“Are they nice people?   
“They are my friends, above all. So yeah. They are.” Jack couldn’t know what it felt to be talking about them this way, after all that happened. It felt good. So good to have them back. And now his father, too.  Matt was blessed.   
“Good.” Jack’s gruf tone was back, but it felt normal. Like his old self.   
“Foggy especially will want to meet you… He’s escorted me here every Sunday since we met in Columbia.”

There was a pause. Jack cleared his throat again.   
“You came here every Sunday. And you stayed.   
“I did. I stayed for an hour, usually. When I could, at least. I must have missed a few times, but no more than a dozen. Maybe less.” Matt smiled, and tried to joke, his father’s tone alarming him a little. “I was way more constant with you than with going to Mass.   
“You didn’t have to.” Jack's voice was hoarse. “I mean… it’s not like I was…   
“It was important for me.”   
Matt heard Jack sniff and swallow. He turned his head away, knowing that even though others knew he was blind, it helped them not to feel scrutinized in these moments.

Jack was going to say something, then stopped - Matt heard him open his mouth, his breath change. His heart had spiked, and he was looking at him.  
“Listen…” Jack cleared his throat again, and hesitated, but said it. “... _Son…_ this is a big bruise you have there, I can see it under your glasses…"    
“Oh, uh,” Matt’s hand shot to his face, touching his skin once again. He cursed himself - he had forgotten, and had turned his head enough for Jack to see. He was sure Jack would be too off to notice. Yet he did. Of course. This almost made him miss that Jack had called him “son”. But he didn’t miss it. It sent a shiver down his spine - that it was the time he chose to.

Matt was torn by contrary feelings. He didn’t know what to say. He licked his lips, at a loss.    
  
“What happened to you, Matthew?”   
There was such concern in his voice. It tore Matt’s heart to lie.   
“Nothing. I just… I just walked into a door, you know. That still happens from time to time.   
“I don’t ever remember this happening.” Jack’s voice became suddenly harsh. Matt swallowed. If he thought he had an old and weakened version of his father in front of him, he was badly mistaken. Jack was as quick as ever. “In fact, it was odd.”   
Jack sounded reflective, now.  “You always seemed to avoid things before walking into them. I’d bet you got even better at it with years…”   
“You know, I had a long day yesterday, I - let’s say I celebrated. And drank that whiskey I kept for the next winning case. I got tipsy, and -   
“Cut the lawyer shit, Matty. I’m -” Jack stopped. Took a deep breath. “Was. A boxer. I can recognize the trace left by a punch when I see one.”

This was not the conversation Matt had been expecting. Awkward, yes. Painful, surely. But this? He tried to keep his cool. All he did was sigh, and decided to wait until his father would let it go, somehow. Arguing wouldn't do. The Murdocks were stubborn, and he didn't want to dig his own grave further by lying some more.

“I’m just… I’m afraid for you, son…” Jack obviously wasn't ready to let go just yet, though he had a softer tone. Concern, yet again. Matt winced internally. He knew what was coming. “Have you… Were you mugged?   
“No -” He almost said it. Almost said “ _no, Dad_ ” just like he used to. But did he want to say it in this conversation? “I wasn’t. I tell you I did this myself. This bruise is my own fault.” Technically, he wasn't lying, there. Only technically. But Jack… was a Murdock.

“Matty. It’s Hell’s Kitchen. You’re a blind man in a fancy suit. I just -  
“Listen, I’ve survived being blind in Hell’s Kitchen for twenty years. Without you."  
Matt realized what he had just said when he heard Jack's gasp. A faint one. But it was enough. In a few words, he had ruined everything. Again. Matt closed his eyes behind his glasses, biting his lips.

Silence fell down once again, this time like a lead weight, pressing down on them. Matt waited a little. But there was no more words coming from Jack, just a strong, fast heartbeat and an overall vibe of bitterness. Or sadness. Anger. All of those. 

His cheeks on fire, Matt picked up his cane and the scarf, and got up, ready to leave.  
He could have missed his father talking, under the clicks of his cane unfolding. But he didn't, of course.

“I know.”  
Matt stopped, and tensed, his head tilted towards Jack. If this was an opening, he had to take it.  
“You did very well.” Jack's voice was still low, and soft. Sad. “In fact, you've… You've exceeded any expectations I could have had.  
"You didn't have much, did you?” Matt had half a smile, like a peace offering; and sat back on the chair, leaning his cane against his shoulder.  
“Don't say that. I just wanted you to be okay, and this was already not a given, and now… Look at you. You just go around like everyone else. You’re a fancy lawyer in a fancy suit. They tell me you're a hero around Hell’s Kitchen. You help people. You put bad guys in prison.” Jack paused, and Matt felt him look at him again, and felt his own cheeks go red once more.  
“I try to. Doesn’t always work. And hero is way too big a word for what I do.” He thought of the night before. Was it heroic, hurting those people to save others? Didn’t really feel like it. Instinctively, he gathered his hands, felt the cuts on his knuckles - hopefully these ones were too small to be noticed. Not heroic, rather violent and crude. Yet, it had to be done. “Law is... muddier than that.   
“Don’t talk yourself down. the nurse told me you were a hero, and for me you are now. Whatever you do, at least you are trying, and you’ve succeeded so much.” Jack’s voice derailed again, and they both acted like they couldn’t hear it. “But it doesn’t matter. You're right. You've grown up, and I have no rights to be concerned when you did so good all these years. I just… You didn’t need me then. You don’t need me now.   
“I’ve always needed you and now isn’t different. I made do, is all.” Matt shrugged, his head low.     
  
They stopped talking. But it felt better now ; the storm had passed. There were many unsaid words and things that would have to be addressed later.

A while later, a soft knock on the door announced the nurse. She had to bring Jack to another service for yet more tests soon.

Matt stood up, and before he walked out, stepped towards Jack and found his hand.   
“I can come back later, if you want?   
“No, son. I don’t know how long it will take and I’ll probably be sleeping. This has been… I’m old now. I’m exhausted and I don’t even know why. Thank you for coming today. Thank you for coming all these years.   
“Don’t. I’ll be back tomorrow.   
“Matt… I don't know how to be the father of this version of you. I just don’t. Just… Be careful, with whatever that bruise is from, okay?   
“Okay, _Dad_ . I will.” Matt squeezed Jack’s hand one more time then walked way.  He was at the door when Jack spoke again, this time with a playful tone.   
“Oh and that scarf. It’s not yours, is it?   
“Uh,” Matt’s nose immediately dived into the scarf and he forced himself to put his head up. “No.   
“There are flowers on it. It’s a woman’s, right?   
“Uh, yes.   
“That’s what I thought.” The smile in Jack’s voice was broader than it had been before. “Say hello to her from me.”   
Matt cleared his throat. Jack was back indeed, no mistaking. Matt had an awkward smile. “I will.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never thanking enough @Quietshade for being the cherrleader for this story, for pushing me to write and being my beta on this. 
> 
> Sorry for the slow update !

Once again, Matt found himself outside of the hospital, in the cold wind, with his very soul rattled by what had just happened.

 

He started walking, almost absent-mindedly, like an automat. A block away from the hospital, he had to stop, and force the extremely tight grip he had on his cane to ease a little. It wasn’t easy on his wrist - and made his walk wonky. He rubbed his hands one against the other, trying to relax his tense muscles, his fingers stopping at the cuts on his knuckles, inspecting them this time, trying to assess if they would have been visible. Probably not. Jack would have brought them up, too, if they were.

 

He started walking. He was thankful for his father to have…tried to... make things right… after what he, Matt, had said.

 

He was so angry at himself. For letting that bruise happen, right then, in the first place ; for forgetting about it and allowing his father to see it. For losing control of the situation.

 

Losing control of himself.

 

How could he let that out? “ _Without you_ ”. As if Jack had chosen to be shot…

 

Well he had chosen not to lose, right? And he _wouldn’t_ have been shot if he had. And things would have been… different…  

 

Really? Was Matt really going back there? He couldn’t help but let out a loud sigh, pent up anger tightening his chest. He felt the few people walking around him turn at the sound, and look - their heads towards him, their hearts suddenly racing, then calming down at various speeds as they realised it was nothing to be afraid of. This only fueled his anger, feeling scrutinized, assessed and judged this way. Made him feel more isolated, alien, than he usually did. He felt like punching them all in the face; would he still be nothing to be afraid of, after that?

 

He stopped, once again. Took in a deep breath. This was becoming ridiculous. As if he was returning to the teenage years he had not been able to spend with Jack. The thought made him smile, a bitter, angry smile, but it was so stupid, right?

 

He needed to calm down, he was only making things worse. It took him longer than usual to realize his feet had automatically brought him near the new offices of Nelson, Murdock and Page - formerly Fogwell’s Gym.

 

He really didn’t feel like coming back to the office right now. Even less now that they were inside Fogwell’s. He kept walking, aimlessly, avoiding coming too close to the building, in case Foggy or Karen might be looking through the window.

 

Karen. Almost unconsciously, he buried his nose into the scarf again at the thought. The smell of her perfume, of _her_ , that had accompanied him all afternoon got stronger, taking all his brainspace over the smells of the streets, the cars, the people around. It soothed him - gave him chills, as he finally managed to let his muscles relax. He still didn’t want to face her, and her unavoidable questions. Not now. But with this, she was helping him, even without being there. Maybe he should tell her. How he liked her smell. Would it be too intrusive?

 

He kept walking. Longer this time. His mind more able to focus.

 

He hadn’t walked that aimlessly again. His body knew the way, and had brought him near his church. To that bench where he would meet Father Lantom. What he would give to talk to him. To apologize - for what he had said to him last - but over all to untangle all the feelings in his chest. Lantom would have been the perfect one to listen. He knew. But he wasn’t involved. Not that much. Not as much as Maggie was.

 

He definitely didn’t want to see Maggie.

 

Yet, Matt sat down on the bench, cane resting on his shoulder, his head low. Thinking. Trying to imagine what Father Lantom would have said.

 

He would have offered him a latte, first, probably.

 

***

Karen was picking up her purse from a chair, ready to leave, when the door opened. It was Matt. He looked numb with cold, his hands and ears red. His nose was half hidden in her scarf.

 

Matt stopped in the middle of the room to untie it, then brought it to her.   
“I hope you weren’t waiting for me to return it. I’m sorry.”

She took the scarf from him, her hands brushing against his - his fingers were ice cold.  
“You’re freezing! You want a coffee or something? To warm up a little?”   
“You were leaving.”   
Karen almost let a question on how he knew it slip out. Of course he knew. She still needed to adjust to this.

Matt’s voice sounded too flat.   
“I don’t want to stop you from going home to rest. It’s been a long day…” He frowned.“What time is it?” He gestured towards his watch, but Karen, glancing at the clock on the wall, was quicker.   
“Almost seven. You stayed pretty long there…” She paused, waiting for his reply, then, realizing there would be none, calculating her effect. “Or not?”

Matt shrugged.   
“I needed some air.”   
“What about some warm food, too? You haven’t eaten all day.”   
“Karen, I’m…”   
“I’m not going to ask you anything. Even with your glasses on, it’s written all over your face, I can tell you’re not well. Something happened. But I’m not only an investigator. I’m also your friend. If you want me to shut up, I will. But you need to warm up and eat something. Delivery?”   
Matt had listened to her, his fingers fidgety over his cane, his head low. He nodded.   
“Delivery sounds good, yeah.”

 

Matt let Karen chose for both of them, and sat, taking his coat off. Then he changed his mind and walked towards the little electric heater they had in the corner of the room, dragging his chair with him and sitting once again. He was absorbed, not listening, while Karen called from the next room. He let the warmth radiate through him, wondering if it was a good idea to stay here with her, in these circumstances. He didn’t want to talk - but he would be lying to himself, if he denied the fact that not being alone, but with a friend, tonight, was setting off a spark of relief, somewhere deep inside his chest.

 

Matt stayed in front of the heater, his elbows on his thighs. He only moved when he sensed Karen approaching. She had come closer than she would usually have managed without him noticing, she realized.   
“We’re out of coffee, so I made some tea.” Karen almost pushed the mug into Matt’s hand, then she remembered. He snatched it anyway, not noticing her hesitation.   
“Thank you.”   
“Since we’re staying here, I’ll just go back to my files for a short while - the delivery won’t take long, anyway. Do you want to help me think?”   
“I don’t think I’ll be of use. But yeah, if you want. I’ll just do it from here, if you don’t mind.” Matt tilted his head towards the heater. “Warming up.”   
“No worries.”

 

They had, in fact, not even started, when Matt suddenly tilted his head.   
“You ordered _curry_ .”   
There was no mistaking the way he pronounced the last word.     
“Yeah, you told me to chose, and after all, I know you like it.”   
Matt opened his mouth, ready to say something. Then, he closed it again, licking his lips. Karen noticed his shoulder slump ever so slightly. His voice was softer when he spoke again.   
“I do. I love it. Thank you.”   
Karen got the delivery - and paid, to Matt’s protestations. Then she cleared a part of the table they used as a desk, and gave Matt his curry.   


They ate in silence, savoring the taste of their food, and the memories it held. Maybe Karen’s plan - if it was a plan - worked, or maybe he just needed time and no pressure. After a while, Matt talked.   
“He saw it.”   
“What?”   
“My father. He saw the bruise.”   
“Oh.”   
“Yeah.”   
The question burned Karen’s lips. It was as if the curry, hot as it was already, was only enhanced by it. Yet, she forced herself to let go of it and continue eating.   
“You won’t ask me what happened then?”   
“I told you. No questions.”   
“Oh but you want to ask, right? Your body…”   
“Maybe my body doesn’t lie to you, Matt, but I will stand on my promise. No questions.” She had replied fast, and a little harshly. He was in no place to judge her - especially since he wasn’t judging her actions, but something she had barely any control over. She was afraid he would take this snubbing badly, but instead, he went back to his plate. He stayed silent for a short while, then let out, his head low :   
“Thank you. I know it’s hard for you.” 

 

They finished their food, then prepared to leave; Karen turned the lights off, and Matt the heater. They got out together, walking once again in silence, side by side, stopping where their ways parted.   
“Thank you. For tonight. I’m sorry for -”   
“Hey, don’t be. If you don’t want to talk about it, don’t. Just know that I, and Foggy, are here. May you want to talk or not.”   
“Thanks. Again. And… for the curry. It was good. It was…”   
“Good memories, I hoped. I wanted to make you feel better. It’s all I could think of…”   
“It worked. It really did.”   
There was a pause. It looked like Matt wanted to add something, but didn’t know how to say it. Karen could wait. She was dressed for the cold. She wasn’t as sure about it for Matt.   
“He didn’t believe me.”   
She didn’t know how to interpret his expression. His eyebrows shot up over his glasses, and he kept biting and licking his lips. “He said he could recognize a punch when he saw one.   
“Oh my, Matt…   
“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say. I think… I think he believes I’ve been mugged and I’m too proud to admit it. But that made him extra… curious. And protective over me. And so… I said things…”   
“You said things you regret.”

Matt felt Karen’s nod as she talked. He could also hear, and feel, that she understood this. That maybe she knew the kind of things he had said. She’d been there. He didn’t want to ask her, though - that would be twisting the knife in her wounds.   
“I fucked up, yeah.”   
“I know the feeling.” Karen shrugged, her hands in her pockets. She was shuffling her feets. “Trust me. Sometimes… parents… make you…”

“Yeah. You know, I never had… _that_ . Not with him. I was too young. I just…”   
“It happens. Just make sure you show him that you regret.” Karen paused, but Matt didn’t talk. So she said it. “It’s something… I couldn’t. When it still mattered.”

Matt heard Karen sniffle. He chose to go on.   
“He seemed to regret, too. We kinda… made peace, before I left. But still…” Matt shook his head, and tapped the ground with his cane. “I can’t believe I let myself say something so hurtful, just then.   
“Just try to make it up next time, maybe? If he managed to get over it that quickly, then so should you.”

A smile was back in Karen’s voice. Not a big one. But it made Matt smile, too.   
“Yeah… I'll try. Thank you, Karen. And… Sorry. I know this isn’t an easy subject for you.”

“It’s okay. I’m happy for you, you know. That you can have your family back.  It’s not too late, for you. It must be frightening, too. But know Foggy and me, we can try to help you navigate this. For better or for worse, we know how families work.”

She sighed. Matt put his hand on her shoulder, briefly. There were a lot of things he would have wanted to say or do, but it wasn’t the right time. Maybe it would never be.

  
They said goodnight, and parted, each with their own thoughts towards their respective family, but each headed for an empty home.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work wouldn't be advancing at all without @Quietshade. For real. And now there's this chapter and chapter 9 soon. So, thanks :D

Jack had fallen asleep not too long after his son had left. He wouldn’t have thought he'd sleep at all - all these conflicted feelings, the bitterness of this conversation going out of its way, of Matt acting like a reluctant child - or was it him, being too curious ?

Matt was right, he’d been absent for the better part of his life, and he still had managed. Jack had absolutely no rights to demand answers from someone who was, eventually, a grown man.

Grown, without him...

All of it seemed to tire him even more than he had already been, and he had fallen asleep yet again. 

 

When he woke up, slowly, he realized it was night. He was lost - what time was it?

What year?

It slowly came back to him, as he switched on the light and took in his surroundings. He noticed the nurse had left some food on a wheeled tray, and he was hungry. However, it was hard for him to catch the food on it - it was within his reach, yet he was too weak, and his left arm still wouldn’t cooperate. He was going to throw the fork he had managed to grab to the other side of the room in frustration, when there was a soft knock on his door.

Slowly, he put down the fork.  
“Come in?”  
Behind the door was a small woman in a heavy winter jacket, too big for her. Her head was covered by a nun’s veil. 

All the air left Jack’s lungs.

“Maggie!?”

She entered the room and closed the door behind her, then proceeded to take off her coat.

“What… what are you doing here?  
“What do you think I am doing?” 

This could have been harsh, but it was in fact said in an almost sweet tone, as she sat on the chair Matt had sat on a few hours prior. 

Matt. _Their_ son.

“So you are still…  
“Always have been, always will be.”

Silence fell. It was, in fact, harder with her than with Matt. She was looking at him with eyes that made him feel like she could see through everything. But once again, there was nothing much to see in him. He felt like a blank slate. And old, broken, blank slate.

Jack cleared his throat. He didn’t know what to say to her. He felt moved by her visiting him, but, contrary to Matt, whom he felt he had only left a few days prior while he had grown twenty years in the meantime, Jack had not seen Maggie since… since then. He’d caught a glimpse of her, or got her on the phone a few times, but that was it. He didn’t know what to talk about. 

Except he knew.

“He grew up better than we could have thought, right?  
“He did.  
“I guess I owe you a thank-you, or something.”

Something passed over Maggie’s face. Her stare became even sharper, and then she looked away, and shrugged. Jack took it for a nun’s modesty.

Jack thought she had stepped up. He thought Maggie had done what he had asked. What she should have done, and couldn’t. It was all she could to hide her distress.

Matt had not told him.

Whether he didn't want or hadn't found the time yet, he had not told Jack.

She didn’t know if she needed to thank him or to worry about it. She decided to thank him - and God, for letting her escape such a painful conversation with a man she had almost not talked to in over twenty-five years. Everything was happening at the same time - first Matt had burst into her life, all blood and pain and despair, and she had to patch up his body, faith and mind. And now, Jack was back, too… and not in a much better shape.

Jack was going on.  
“A goddamn lawyer. Can you believe that?  
“I believe you're talking to a nun.”  
Wry smile, once again. Jack had a small smile too, and clicked his tongue.  
“And a good one, at that. I've been told what he did. Nurse here calling him a hero.” Jack’s voice got more hoarse. “It's a little too much for me to handle… I'm so damn proud of him, but...  
“I think you should tell him. That you are. I believe he needs to hear it. Making you proud… It’s been one of his strongest motivation all these years.”  
Maggie talked from knowledge. She may not have raised Matt as his mom, but she did have a part in his childhood. She couldn't count how many times she'd hear little Matt say this in his bedtime prayers.

“Yeah, I…” Jack stopped, and looked away. “He was there earlier. It didn’t… It didn’t go that well.”  
Maggie didn’t say anything for a while, leaving Jack time to explain himself. When he didn’t, she asked, almost reluctantly.  
“What happened?”  
Jack opened his mouth, then closed it, sighing deeply. “I don’t know. I… Maggie, he had a big bruise on his face. I just… I felt I… I’m afraid for him, you know?”

Maggie sighed. Matt didn’t have any bruise when he’d met her at the church, the evening before. But he couldn’t help it. He’d had to go and fight, even last night. Possibly, he had to go, _especially_ last night. And didn’t notice the bruise, or forgot people could see it.

“He’s a big boy. And a lawyer. He can defend himself. He probably… walked into a door, nothing serious, you know, he’s blind -  
“Yes,” Jack was almost yelling. “I _know_ he’s blind, for fuck’s sake! He kept telling me this! But this bruise, it was a punch. I know it. Come on, you can’t deny I have some experience with punches, Maggie.  
“I do not deny anything.  
“And all the things he does, as a lawyer. That man he helped take down. These men have power, Maggie, they have men working for them, even when you think they’re out of the game. I’m sure he was mugged. And he won’t defend himself with no lawyering there. He would need to fight back, and he can’t, he’s blind!”

Jack rambled, agitated, while Maggie stayed silent, which made him even more frustrated. He had to calm down. How come Matt, and Maggie before him, made him lose his temper so quickly? Oh, he knew the answer. He cared about them. He cared too much. He was worried for them. And it seemed the son got some stubbornness from his mother.

And his father, alright.

Maggie was just there, silent, looking at him with this piercing stare again. He felt X-rayed, assessed from head to toes by her. He would say this was a nun’s superpower, but he remembered she was like that before, too. He liked that, back then.

He gave her back her stare. Eventually, she talked; but this time she was more hesitant, as if she was choosing her words carefully.

“I think… you might be underestimating our son.  
“There is no underestimating. He might be ace in court, but he can’t defend himself on the streets.  
“Who tells you that?  
“How many times - he’s blind! What else do you need?  
“He’s the son of a boxer, as far as I know.  
“And as far as _I_ know, you need to see your opponent to hit.  
“There _are_ blind boxers.  
“Yeah, at the Olympics, all right. On a ring. I’m not talking boxing, and you know that, Maggie.” Jack pointed at her, still on edge. “Don’t try that with me. You’re telling me he’s boxing after hours, good for him. Won’t help.  
“You should see him.” Maggie let out, then covered her mouth.    
“... wait, he does?” Jack was taken aback. He had not thought about that. He slumped, and finally lowered his voice. “Matt does boxing? But why… why didn’t he tell me?  
“He doesn’t… do… boxing, per se.  
“Then what? Maggie, I know you know something. Tell me. Please.”

She was looking at him with those eyes again. The eyes she had given their son - even if he was blind, there was still the same shape, and colour there. And if Matt had been able to see, Jack would bet he’d have the same sharp stare as hers.

However, now, she seemed more thoughtful.

Then she did something that surprised him. She approached her chair from the bed, and took his hand, the left one, in hers. He could, barely, hold her hand back.

“It might not be… no, it really isn’t.” She sighed, shaking her head. “It’s not my call, to tell you. To tell you anything. But you are his father, and I don’t want him to lose you again.  
“He’s not going to -  
“Shut up. Let me finish.”  
Jack stopped talking, frustrated, but also, a bit sheepish. The authority in her voice was silencing, even to him.

“It’s not for me to tell you, but I’m going to tell you something, because I think you two are too stubborn to be able to communicate the right way about it. So I’m going to tell you one thing, that you will keep in mind next time you see him. What you do with this information, is your decision, but I just want you to think about it.”  
“I will. Tell me, now.”  
Maggie once again looked at him intently.  
“Our son… had a... He had some sort of calling.”  
“What? What do you mean by that?”    
“This is what happened to me. Before we met. When I first took the veil.”  
“What?” Jack had a incredulous frown. “But Matt is not a - ”  
“Not this kind. Still a calling.”  
“Maggie, what the hell do you mean? I don’t get it.” Jack brought his right hand to cover Maggie’s. “Please just - just tell me, okay?”  
“I told you, it’s not my call.” Maggie now cast her eyes down to their hands “Just… keep in mind there’s more to Matt than meets the eye, okay? This is all I feel I can tell you - and maybe I did tell too much.”  
“No you didn’t, ‘cause I didn’t understand shit. Maggie, please -”  
“No. No more.” She checked her watch, a shadow passing on her face. “I should go.” Her remaining hand slid out of the embrace of Jack’s, and she got up and took her coat.  
“Maggie, please…”  
“I’ll be back, I promise. It’s late, I need to go, I’m needed. In the meantime, be nice to him - and above all, leave him be. He will come back, too. He’s probably just as pissed it went wrong as you are.”  
“Maggie, I just want to -”  
“Jack. We’re done. Be nice to Matt, and think about what I’ve just told you. Maybe you’ll understand better next time you see him. I’ll pray for you to do so.”  
  
She left just as she had come, leaving Jack dumbstruck and sad, wondering what she really was looking into, coming there. He just sat there for a while, trying to understand what she had said. But it didn’t make any sense…

Jack threw a sad look at his fork, and tried to settle down to eat once again.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter that is slightly off the usual tone in this fic. I hope it is still enjoyable. 
> 
> Thanks @Quietshade again for cheering, betaing, and the Spanish !

Matt had walked home briskly, thoughts of his father and his conversation with Karen swirling in his head. He caught himself ducking his head instinctively once or twice, looking for Karen’s scarf around his neck, for her smell to calm him. But Karen had taken her scarf back.

Once home, he didn’t calm down. He eventually pondered over calling Maggie, but what for? What could she do to help him, there? He had been a idiot and now he had to atone for it. To go back to his father and to apologize. But it was too late - he had to wait for tomorrow. Or later. Maybe leaving him some time to cool off; leaving it for them both, was better.

He knew it was a mistake. He knew it was what had brought up today’s argument, but he couldn’t help it. He needed to let steam out, he needed to feel the wind on his face, to run freely, to feel the city at his fingertips, to hear it, smell it, crowded and stinky and alive, under his watch.

And maybe he needed to punch a nose or two.

He smelled it as soon as he pushed the door to the roof. A fire. Two blocks - no, four - away. In the oldest, most cramped and run down part of the Kitchen. Locking the door behind him, he tilted his head, listening for sirens.

None.

He was bad with fire. He’d been in some, and they messed him up. He could get around better than others, not being bothered by flames and smoke to find his way ; but the smoke clogged his nose and choked his throat faster, and the heat got unbearable faster too, on his sensitive skin. Not counting that the temperature made it harder for him to locate specific things, as he would normally use it.

He could call 911. Tell them to get there - but they must have been called already. And either all cars were busy somewhere else, or…

These blocks really were in bad shape, in all senses of the term. Maybe they were taking their time.

He had to go.

When he got there, he stayed back, crouched atop a small building nearby. There were a few people around, watching. No cops, no firemen. Not yet. People were talking in different languages, most he couldn’t get. But the crowd was oddly lacking in panic - they seemed to be mostly onlookers, there to have a glimpse at the event of the night. A few of them, at the other side of the crowd, were talking in Spanish. He focused his attention on them, trying to decipher their speech over the dozens of other conversations and the roaring of the fire.

The four-story building was unoccupied. No one had lived there for years - it was condemned, had to be destroyed, and it never happened.

That was common, in Hell’s Kitchen. Matt relaxed. He wouldn’t have to brave the fire. He turned around, ready to leave, when he heard it. A child’s cry. Directly from the inside of the burning building. No hesitation to make, then.

But first, he needed something…

“Loco mira, el diablo !”  
The crowd turned towards Matt as he ran towards it, and above all towards the small deli that was closing its doors at the end of the street.  
“Agua!” He yelled. “Necesito agua!”  
Some people in the crowd got it immediately, running ahead of him to the deli, and coming back with a bunch of water bottles. Matt met them halfway, thanked them, and emptied the bottles over his head. Then he ran towards the fire, feeling the water freeze in the winter wind. That would buy him mere minutes. But he would take them.

The first floor wasn't fully burning yet ; the fire must have started in the upper levels. He tried to find a place where he would be able to scan the biggest number of rooms from.

Stairwell. That would do. He stood on the first step, listening intently, his head to one side, then to the other, keeping his breathing as low as he could. He would have used his nose, but the smoke was erasing any other smell he could have picked up. The fire itself was blaring to his ears, no matter how much he tried to push it at the back of his other perceptions.

First, all he could hear was the fire and it's consequences on the building. Wood creaking, beams exploding at the top. Steel slowly bending, melting in the heat. He had to be fast.

A cough. Upstairs. Second? No, third floor. He held onto that sound as he leaped forward, running up the staircase. It was a child's cough, and a tired one. But he prayed for that child to keep on coughing.

As he passed the second floor, he stopped for a quick new listen; he wasn't going to leave anyone behind. Satisfied to hear nothing but the fire and the tenuous cough, he climbed on. The heat was rising. He could feel his damp, freezing clothes getting warmer by the second.

Third floor. The fire here was raving. His mask and shirt were producing vapor, badly insulating him from the heat, now. The smoke was choking him already. He knelt down, avoiding it as he could, and ready to start listening again to pinpoint the room he’d have to walk into - he had no time to inspect them all by crashing the doors open.

Just as his hands touched the ground, a vibration split the air, followed by a crack loud enough to stun him - but not enough to stop him from jumping down, back in the stairs, as a big wooden beam, and parts of ceiling, crashed onto the third floor corridor.

Matt coughed - his leap back had him inhaling too much smoke. It took him some time, too much time, to calm the fit down. He managed, eventually, keeping his face close to the ground, were the air was slightly fresher. Eyes watering, he got up, and climbed back.

The crashing beam had destroyed the first two rooms, but he already knew there were no one in them. But now he had to climb over the beam and debris to go further.

Everything was scorching hot - and it was not only a matter of sensitive skin. Touching any of these… He couldn’t use his hands. Even with the gloves he had been thoughtful enough to add to his outfit a few months prior, he would be getting severe burns.

And he really, really didn’t want to burn his fingertips.

But he needed to climb. Better use that supernatural balance for something else than combat, for once.

Judging every step in advance, Matt managed to hop from piece of wood to piece of ceiling all the way to the top of the small mount. He started climbing down, carefully, the same way.

He’d just landed on a small wooden beam when he felt the wood vibrate through the sole of his shoes, and the beam gave way under his weight. Reflexively, he tried to stop his fall by catching the first thing he could with his right hand, letting go with a loud yell as he got burnt over a metallic thing sticking out of the rubble.

He fell randomly to the floor, slashing and burning his back on the way, groaning in pain as he got up, coughing, crying in the smoke, his whole body in pain from the heat and the fall.

Another cough answered, very near, just two doors down. Matt rushed, trying to suppress his coughing.  
“AWAY FROM THE DOOR!” He yelled, his voice hoarse, before he crashed it open with a kick.

Two heartbeats. The fire was too loud for him to notice the second person until then. The coughing child was there, between five to eight years old, probably, curled up against a bigger body, both on the ground, on a battered mattress against the further wall.  
The child yelped in fear as Matt entered.  
“It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here to help.”  
The child didn’t show any sign of comprehension. Matt slowly walked inside, hands out, trying to look as non threatening as he could. They had effectively managed in keeping most of the smoke away, but it had crept in, and the other person - an adult woman, it seemed - was unconscious.  
Matt took off his mask.  
“Here, kiddo. I’m here to help. You speak English? You understand?”

  
Through the heat, smoke, and blaring of the fire, Matt barely noticed the small nod of the child.  
“Good. What’s your name?  
“Lena.”  
Talking provoked a new coughing fit in the child.

Matt took a few seconds to look for an exit - there was no way he would climb back with the child and unconscious woman.

The fire escape was near… in the next room, but broken. There was no access over the second floor.

… they would have to make do.

Matt tore his left glove off with his teeth - he was trying not to use his burnt hand - and touched the fabric of his mask. It was still slightly humid. He gave it to the child.  
“Here, Lena. You’re going to put this on your mouth and breathe through it, okay?”  
A nod again.  
“I’m taking your Mom, and you’ll hold my hand. Then I’ll guide you out. And we’ll be fine. Okay again?”  
Small nod.

Matt, suppressing a groan as he used his right hand to put back his glove on the other, turned away to lift the woman’s limp body over his shoulder. She was extremely light for her size - too light. But now wasn’t the time to think about it.

“Okay, Lena, take my hand, now, we’re getting out.”  
He tried to walk as fast as he could while allowing the child to follow. Lena was holding his right hand, holding very tight, and the pain of his burns made his eyes water once again. But he held through, holding her hand back.

When they reached the fire escape, Lena obediently climbed out the window when Matt asked.  
“Can you give me back my mask?” Matt coughed up, his voice more and more hoarse.  
“Why?” The kid asked, handing out the piece of fabric.  
He could feel she was intently looking at him as he took the mask and put it on.  
“I don’t want people to know me.” He said, climbing out of the window himself, the mother still on his shoulder, impairing his moves.  
“Only me?”  
That kid was getting back on her feet fast.  
“Only you.” Matt replied, testing the metallic platform under their feet. The ladder between the third and second stories was missing. But that would be fine.  
“Okay, I’m going to take your mom down there, you see?”  
Lena nodded again, looking down.  
“Then I’ll come back for you, and we can all climb down and be safe.”  
The kid didn’t nod again, but he could hear her swallow.

After the fire, being outside, even that close, was heavenly. And climbing down with such a light weight as the mother on his shoulder was fairly easy for Matt, who then climbed back up as he had announced to pick the kid.

The climb down was uneventful. As they reached the ground, Matt, and probably the whole street - could hear an enormous crack inside, followed by a series of smaller ones. But now, it wasn’t his business anymore. Lena took his hand back and Matt repressed a cry of pain, as he walked with her around the side of the building, into the street.

People quickly turned towards them and closed in, as Matt laid the mother down.  
“Ambulance. Call an ambulance. Llama la ambulancia.”  
They were too close. Many were taking care of the child and the mother, but a few guys were coming towards him, hands stretched out.  
“You. Blood.  
“I’m okay. Take care of them.”

Matt weaseled his way out of the crowd, avoiding people’s touch or even embrace, and limped away into a dark corner, a block further. He stopped, leaning against a wall.  
His lungs hurt. His head hurt. His eyes, too - not something that happened often. The smell of the smoke felt like it was engraved in his nose and would never get out.  
The slash in his back hurt. And his hand… oh, his hand. He was afraid of taking the glove off by himself. But it had to be done… though he had to be realistic.

He needed help with it. He closed his eyes behind his mask, trying to recognize his surroundings, and know where he was. Trying to get to whomever was the closest.

He just needed some water to drink, some cold water on his burn, and he would be off.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to update!!!! You need to go and thank my beta and cheerleader @Quietshade for not waiting longer... 
> 
> Disclaimer! This is an extremely long chapter (over 3000 words). It also holds a lot of Karen and Matt speaking together, so if it's not your cup of tea I'd advise you to go to the end of the chapter and read the last paragraphs ;)

There was a soft noise. 

Karen looked up from the files she was still working on, tense. 

Just as she started thinking it was a random noise, and no threat, the tap rose again. A gentle tap against the kitchen window. 

She rose, then slowly progressed towards the kitchen, grasping the knife she had used to cut up pieces of an apple an hour or two before on the coffee table. Step by step. Knife at the ready. It was a really small knife. But there was no time to turn and get the gun in her bedside table. If someone was thinking the lights were off - mostly, except for a very dull light next to her laptop - because she wasn't there… Well. She'd give them a run for their money. 

She was scared. But that never made her stay where she was, paralysed, waiting for her fate to happen. On the contrary. 

She crept towards the kitchen, peering into it. There was a black silhouette against the night lights outside. 

She tensed even more for a second. 

Then relaxed. It was him. 

The Man in the Mask. 

Daredevil. 

… Matt. 

She quickly put the knife on the counter and unlocked the window. 

"Hey."

"Hey Karen." Matt's voice was rough, hoarse. He cleared his throat, but it still wasn't back to normal afterwards. "Sorry for frightening you." 

"You didn't frighten me."

Matt climbed in, his lips curled in a small smile, walking past her towards the table. Karen turned around and turned the light on, noticing he was keeping his right hand close, if not against his chest. With him walking by came the stench of fire, burnt wood and plastic. And a slight smell of burnt hair. Karen had a step back. 

"Oh god, Matt. You smell… 

" Yeah, Uh.” He coughed a few times. “A fire. You were the closest… I just need some water, and uh…” He coughed again, leaving his sentence incomplete. When it calmed down, he stopped, then walked toward the kitchen table again, placing his left hand on it. Karen suspected he needed to steady himself. 

 

As Matt progressed into Karen’s apartment, he took it in. Even through the smell of the fire - it seemed he would never be rid of it - he could smell her. Everywhere. On all the objects, in the air. It was as if he was being enveloped in a warm, comforting blanket. It had a sense of… Home. He took in a deep breath. 

And started coughing again. 

"Why? Did you just run into a fire?" Karen was waving her hands. She sounded incredulous, and slightly… Irritated. She confirmed his suspicion with the rest of her sentence. 

"After what happened yesterday? Really?" 

"I had to." He was talking with a throat like parchment. Burn parchment. "The firemen, the police, no one was there. A little girl and her mom were trapped."

Karen sighed, and placed a hand on his shoulder. It was off as fast as it had been on. Matt could sense that hand was cold. Just it being close to his face, still hot from the fire, made him feel better. 

 

Karen noticed Matt's head leaning towards her hand - but it didn't look like a conscious move. 

"What do you need? 

"A glass of water would be good, first, thanks." 

"Sit. I'll bring you one."

Matt complied, taking his mask off in the process. 

Karen returned, noticing the top of Matt's face was almost as covered in soot as his chin. And his eyes were very, very red. Tears had drawn clear lines in the dark stains on his cheeks. 

When she gave him the glass, he took it with his left hand. 

Matt was right handed, as far as she knew. 

"What's wrong with your hand?" 

Matt took the time to drink the whole glass at once, wincing. The water was very cold. It felt good - but it was painful. He placed the glass back on the table, making it clink. He licked his cracked lips. 

"Burnt. I don't know how bad… Well, I do, but… I just need…" 

Matt sighed. 

"You need help. Is it that hard to say it?" 

Matt shrugged. 

"Let me see."

Karen sat in front of Matt, taking his injured hand in hers, gently poking at the glove. 

"I think we're gonna have to cut…" 

"What, the hand ?" Matt joked, trying to sound playful. 

"Yeah, of course the hand." Karen answered, her thoughts elsewhere, and continued to inspect his fingers, stopping when she noticed a slight tremor in them. 

"I must have thin scissors somewhere. I'll go grab all I need. Do you need help with anything else?"

"No, it's okay. Just take off the glove, give me some more water and I'll be good to go. It's not… It's not hospital worthy. Don't worry." Matt's voice was still rough, his eyes severely bloodshot. 

As if she needed any confirmation that he was lying, Matt started coughing, deeply, sounding like it would never stop, as Karen got up to go to the bathroom. Instead, she took Matt's now empty glass first, and filled it again. She brought it back to him, still coughing, tears once again rolling down his cheeks. 

He managed to drink a little, and calm down. Karen left him. 

She found her scissors, then piled up a few things she thought she'd need, before coming back. She had seen blood on Matt's back as she had left; she wouldn't be able to stitch him up, but she could patch him. She heard him trying to muffle a new coughing fit, back in the kitchen. 

He couldn't help it. He had to go… Karen cursed under her breath. Fucking idiot. And she was sure he could hear her. But she believed him when he had said he saved these people's lives. She couldn't imagine what being in a fire would be like for someone like him. So, for him to willingly go through it… 

She returned to the kitchen, and placed all her things on the table, under Matt's quizzical tilt of the head. He didn't say anything about her cursing him. Before doing anything else, she filled his glass again. 

"Okay, let's start with that glove, then." She sat in front of him at the table and gestured for him to bring his hand closer. 

"Start? What are all these things for? 

"This" Karen held out a tube that produced a dull sound as she placed it on the table. "Is some cream for your burn. Or rather, burns. Then this," she took some gauze and tape, and tapped them on the table. "Is for the cut on your back. And this" she shook a tiny plastic bottle under his nose. "This is for your eyes. 

"I don't think you'll make any miracle with this, I’m sorry to tell you." 

"Don't act as if you don't know… Smell… I don't know, what it is. I can bet you've used that in the past." 

"Yeah, I did. But that won't help much. 

"You can't see for yourself. I'm sure it will. That -" She approached her hand close enough to his face to warrant a small recoil from him. " - looks itchy. 

"It is." Matt sighed, rolling his eyes. "But hand first."

Karen took the scissors, and gently cupped Matt's hand in hers. She started cutting the fabric, slowly, stopping whenever she was afraid she would be touching Matt's skin. 

"You should go back to leather." 

 

Matt didn't reply, tense as he was. As much as he trusted her, he was afraid any move from him would make her slice him. The metal of the scissor blades felt ice cold and white hot at the same time, close as they were to his skin - painful, but good news. It's when the pain, or rather any sensation, started to fade, somewhere near the upper part of his palm, that he started getting it was maybe worse than he thought. He frowned. 

 

Karen immediately stopped cutting, distraught. 

"Did I hurt you? 

"No," Matt's voice was soothing, and he placed his left hand on her arm. "You're doing great. I'm just afraid it's…" He winced. "Worse than I was expecting. 

"Maybe we should - 

"We're not going anywhere." Matt's voice got harsher. "Keep cutting."

Karen complied, casting him a dark look she hoped he wouldn't know about, any way he could have, this time. She was biting her tongue to stop herself from saying anything. But what for? And above all, she was slowly understanding why, slowly starting to see things from his perspective. There would be questions. There were always questions. Maybe associating with Frank in his never-ending run for a while had helped with understanding that. There was no way Matt could go anywhere and avoid looking suspicious. 

She slowly opened the glove along the cut she'd made. Matt's hand was bright red. She winced when she noticed parts of his skin going off with the glove, at the top of the palm and the base of his fingers. Matt hissed. 

"Sorry."

But she went on - it was only a small piece of skin, and with further inspection, she could see it was only the upper layer of the epidermis. Not too bad. But it would hurt for a while - she winced again, now thinking of what Matt had told her about his sense of touch. 

Karen wasn't a doctor, nor a nurse, but when you and a close member of your family operate a grill for years, you become very well acquainted with burns. And, luckily for Matt, their treatment. Karen was somehow relieved he’d come to her with burns, and small ones, rather than sliced open everywhere. Burns, she could deal with. 

 

Matt waited as patiently as he could, keeping his reactions under control as best he could. The cool air suddenly blowing on his burn increased his pain to a maddening level. He clenched his jaw, and took in a deep breath, concentrating on the smells of Karen's flat, and Karen's herself. And her heartbeat. 

Concentrating on Karen would be a quicker way to say it. 

He noticed her heart, that had previously peaked, calm down. It calmed him too. 

"Is it bad, doctor Page?" 

Karen let out a sigh, but Matt picked up that she was smiling. 

"I thought it would be worse. It's a second degree burn. What came up with the glove is only the blister that had formed. Not nice to look at - 

"Or to feel." 

"Yeah, but you'll live. And I won't have to cut off your hand, yet." She said, gently poking his arm. 

"Oh, I never lost my trust in you." Matt smiled, but Karen could see he was in pain. She gave him the cream. 

"I think it'd be better if you applied this yourself. I don't want to hurt you. Meanwhile, I can clean the wound in your back." she stopped talking, but didn't move. Matt noticed her cheeks becoming hot. She blurted out. "But for that, I, uh." 

"Shirt off? 

"Yeah. Thanks."

He complied, using the tips of his right hand only. 

 

Matt felt awkward - amped up by Karen's obvious awkwardness, too. So he talked. 

"You seem to know a lot about burns.” 

He could feel Karen’s tension in her shoulders, even when not touching her. She walked around him, to have a look at his back, and obviously took the bait with relief. "You need to, when burns happen a lot in your work. My parents owned a restaurant.” She dragged another chair to sit behind him. “I think… I think my dad still does. I don’t know.” 

"You never told me.” Matt took the cream and applied it on his burn. It was cold. It hurt. But soon enough, the ointment produced its effect, and the pain slowly receded. 

"You never told me your dad was still alive, remember?”

Matt had a mirthless chuckle. "Okay. We're even."

"At the beginning I burnt myself a lot.” As she went on, and cleaned his wound, Matt could sense her shoulders relax. He didn’t interrupt her, even when it stung so bad he had to bite his tongue. He tasted blood. “I got burnt pretty badly, at times. Still have a few scars on my hands and arms."

"Oh, yeah,” Matt suddenly remembered. Scars like small dots under his fingers. A slightly bigger one, on the inside of her left arm, where skin is tender, that he had noted must have hurt her a lot. “I - I noticed them, when we…"

"And you didn't ask about them.” Karen paused in her tending of his cut. Matt shrugged. 

"I had scars of my own that I didn't want you to ask about, so…"

"Okay.” Her turn to chuckle. “Even. Anyway, when my brother got old enough, he replaced me, because he was far better than I was. Dad was... relieved." Her last sentence sounded bitter. Matt tilted his head, but said nothing. He grabbed the bandage Karen had left on the table and started wrapping his hand as Karen went on. "I took care of the service. And care of Kevin's burns, because no one can be perfect all the time…"

"Kevin's your brother."

"Yeah, sorry."

"No, no." Matt opened his mouth, then closed it. He was startled by Karen, who caught that, even while being still concentrated on the cut on his back. She was applying some gauze and keeping it in place with tape. That’d hold until he got home. 

"You want to ask something. You moved just like that."

Matt muffled a small laugh. Then got serious - he felt he knew the answer he was going to get. 

"He is the brother you… talked to me about, when… 

"Yes. I only had one." 

"And your mother?” Since they were talking, why not ask all the questions.  

"She died. Years ago. Cancer. My dad… Never really could let her go. That's why we were all working in the restaurant. It was hers.” 

Matt let out a pensive sound, and nodded. 

“Kevin just wanted to please Dad. But he was young, and Dad didn’t ask much of him. Me…” Matt felt her place her hand, deliciously fresh, on the skin of his back, next to his now patched up cut. She probably wasn’t thinking about it, caught up in her memories. He closed his eyes.  

“Eh, you probably don’t want to hear any of that. You just got your family back. I don’t want to be a downer.” She took her hand off in a breath, and quickly said, while getting up : “I’m done, you can put your shirt back on." 

“It’s okay.” Matt carefully slid his shirt over his new bandage, trying not to put too much of the cream he’d applied on his hand on it. “My… family…” that word felt weird in his mouth. “It’s not the most functional either.” 

 

Karen walked back to the other side of the table. 

“Foggy’s the one you might want for that."

“Yes”, Matt laughed. “Careful, the Nelsons tend to adopt any and all strays coming their way. Don’t fall for them."

“Maybe I would like it.” Karen crossed her arms close to her body. “I don’t really remember what’s it like to have that.”

She regretted saying this immediately. She was getting sloppy. No more pouring all this on Matt. 

But Matt was smiling his sad smile again. “Me neither.”  

So she went on. She sat back in front of him, fiddling with the tiny eye drops bottle. 

“But you and your Dad, you were very close.” 

 

“He was all I had.” Matt realised there was no way she could know this from him. Either it was Foggy, or… “You talked to Maggie."

“She talked to me. There is a difference. I didn’t go all reporter on her.” 

Matt mulled that answer over. He licked his lips. 

“She told you a lot."

“Yeah. She… kind of dumped things on me. You had just disappeared after you learnt, and she…" 

“Yeah, yeah.” Matt closed his eyes and nodded. It was still too early, still too raw. His eyes itched more suddenly, and he raised his left hand to rub them, but Karen caught his wrist. 

“Oh no, you’re not going to do that. Eye drops. Now.” 

Matt sighed. 

“Suit yourself,” he let out, tilting his head backwards. 

Karen got closer, eye drops in hand. Matt kept his head tilted back, licking his lips, waiting. Karen noticed he was repressing a wince, or something. He kept rolling his eyes. 

“Something wrong?"

“Nope. Go, drops.” 

Karen frowned but went on. As she approached the drop to his right eye, Matt had a knee jerk movement, and the solution missed his eye, rolling on his cheek, adding a new stripe in the soot there. 

“Sorry. 

“I’ll give that to you and you’ll do it yourself."

“No, no, it’s okay.” 

But as Karen got close again, he winced, and caught her wrist. 

“Okay, no, you’re right, I’ll do it.” 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to - “

“It’s not you.” Contrary to Karen, who was slow, scared of doing a mistake, Matt was extremely quick, and put a few drops in one eye, blinked, then a few drops in the other, and blinked again. That was over in seconds. 

“It’s me, I should have done it. I just… Don’t really like people touching my eyes. Or getting close to them. Sorry. “

“No, I… I think I get it. It’s okay.” 

Matt made that small sad smile again, and wiped his cheeks. Karen smiled back. 

“It was my Dad who did that, after the accident, when I got back home. I really didn’t like that - as you can see - but he was… persuasive.” Matt got up, his mask in hand. Karen didn’t really want him to go. They could talk all night. It felt good to share the weight on her heart a little. She hoped it had felt good for him to do so, too. As if on cue, Matt added, walking towards the kitchen window: “He took great care of me, all my life. 

“And now you’re gonna have to take care of him." 

“Yeah…” He stopped, fiddling with his mask, head down. “I am afraid I will not be as good as he was.” 

“You’ll be. I’m sure of that.” 

 

***

 

Jack was barely awake when Corina, the nurse, walked into his room, the next morning. 

 

“Hello Mr Murdock! Are you in the mood for some breakfast?” She brought in a tray that didn’t smell that good, but he acted as if he was very hungry.  

“I told you, you can call me Jack.” 

“Only if you call me Corina.” She opened the shutters. She was carrying a folded newspaper under her arm.  

“Okay, Corina, please call me Jack.” 

“I like that better. By the way, I got you the news.” She brought him the newspaper along with the tray. “Some exciting events in Hell’s Kitchen last night.” 

She pointed to page 3 - where she had folded it open, so Jack could read it by holding it with one hand. There was no picture, but the page read : 

 

THE DEVIL OF HELL’S KITCHEN IS BACK - SAVES MOTHER AND CHILD FROM DEATH BY FIRE 

 

“The...? What the hell is that? The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen?” 

“You have missed a lot. I think you should know what happens in your old neighbourhood now.” 

Jack read the article, puzzled. He didn’t understand what it was about. A devil? That saved people? Had this world gone mad? What was it really about? 

He shook his head. 

“I don’t understand.” 

“You know, Jack? I have a break in half an hour. What do you think if I take you to get coffee at the cafeteria and I tell you about the weird people we have had sprouting around New York in the last decade? You won’t believe me.” 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been edited by myself only, so if you see any mistake, please let me know !! Still not a native speaker here, lol  
> (no I didn't want to bother you @Quietshade)

"Okay. Slow down. Please. I don't…" Jack held his right hand up. The left one was still not responding - he was frightened about that. But not right now. Right now, he was trying to process all that Corina had told him.    
The nurse winced.   
"Too much?"   
"You just told me in the same sentence that Captain  _ fucking  _ America was back and that there were others like him, now. This is past too much."  
"Sorry."

But Jack could tell Corina wasn't really sorry. In fact it looked like she was enjoying herself, being here, sharing a coffee with him. And not because she was making fun of this old man he had seemed to become overnight. 

Well, it  _ was _ overnight, for him. 

Her smile was genuine, and her patience infinite. He had made her repeat all this twice already and he still couldn't wrap his head around it. 

But he saw her coffee (orange juice for him. No coffee yet.) diminish, and the clock turn, and he knew she had to clock in later. So he tried to believe her, and asked her to go on. 

"So, what about those people?"  
"I think that guy, this devil, he's one of them. We have a bunch around here. Oh, he's not like that one who is bulletproof, but -”  
"There's a bulletproof guy running around.”  
"Yeah. Harlem.”  
  
Jack couldn’t help sighing. This was way more than too much. He felt he was in one of those stories Matt would read avidly when he was little.

"Tell me he's a good guy, at least.”  
"They're all good, Jack. As far as I know.”   
"I don't for one percent trust a guy who calls himself the Devil of Hell's Kitchen to be a good guy. And you shouldn’t.”    
He drank the last bits of his orange juice and firmly placed the styrofoam cup on the table, as if to end the discussion there. But he didn’t really want it to. He was lonely. Matt would be there from time to time, but he needed to see people. He wasn’t a very extraverted man, but he did need social interactions. Especially now that he was so lost. 

"But he is. Look, he saved these people.” Corina, who wouldn’t let him leave with a bad idea of Hell’s Kitchen’s hero, waved the newspaper to his face. “He stopped Fisk, with your son."  
"What? Whom?” Jack frowned. 

His memory wasn’t the best. But that wasn’t all because of the coma. Too many punches to the head, as his mother would have said.   
Maybe. 

"Fisk. Mob boss. Your son, his firm, took him down, remember? But the Devil caught him first. Brought him to justice."

Jack wasn't impressed, but Corina went on. 

"I don't think he picked the name himself either. He appeared, and people started to call him that way. Because…" She sighed. "Because people were afraid of him. Bad people. Said he fought like the Devil, when the cops questioned them. I think that's how it started, if I remember the news well. And then… Then one day he had a costume, all like Captain America. A Devil costume."   
"This is insane."   
"More than waking up after 20 years of coma?"   
  
There was silence, filled with the hospital cafeteria sounds. 

Corina covered her mouth and put her hand on Jack's arm. Her hand was warm. And soft. 

"Sorry. I shouldn't have.”  
"It's okay.”    
Jack tried to smile, and discovered it was genuine. Corina smiled back. Her smile was lovely.   


"I really want you to believe he's a good guy. Thugs are afraid of him. They're leaving people alone, these days. Because they know he’s there. He took Fisk away. Ask your son. He probably thinks he’s a good guy, too.”   
“My son’s a lawyer. I doubt vigilantes are something he likes.”  
“The Devil appeared in dark times for the Kitchen. Times when the police wasn’t exactly doing the right work… I wish I could print you all the papers from back then. You would see we needed him. Do ask your son. He was in the middle of it, after all.” Corina glanced at her watch. “I’m sorry… I have to go. Let me bring you back to your room.”  
  
“Do I really have to?”  
“What are you gonna do here, stuck in the cafeteria?”   
“I don’t know.” Jack shrugged. “See people.”

“Ain’t your son coming soon?”   
“This afternoon, I think. Not sure.” Jack almost added “ _ It’s complicated _ .” But didn’t. It was their problem, after all. 

“It’s almost noon, maybe you should rest before he comes to see you. And then you’ll ask him.”    
“Ask him about what?”   
“The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, Jack! Ask him about the Devil.” 

***

Early this same morning, Matt had knocked at the church door, asking for Sister Maggie. He was dressed for work, but he had been walking slowly, trying not to tear the makeshift patch he had applied to the cut in his back when he got out of the shower.

 

He must have slept a couple of hours. Not bad, but when he awoke, it had been to realise Karen’s patch had not held up that well, and his silk sheets were covered with drying blood stains. He needed stitches, and he couldn’t stitch his own back. He didn’t really want to ask for her, but he needed Maggie. 

 

Her rapid, nervous steps echoed in the far corridors that linked the orphanage to the church, and a couple of minutes later, the wooden door creaked open.    
“Matthew.” Maggie’s voice was low, and stern. “I hope it’s serious. I am very demanded at this hour.”   
Matt felt heat rise in his cheeks. She still had that power on him...    
He got up from the bench he had been sitting on - slowly.    
“I’m sorry. I should come back la-”    
“Now you got me here, you’re not going anywhere. What happened to your hand? Is it what you need help for?”   
“No.” Matt held out his neatly bandaged hand for her to see. “It’s just a burn. Mild one. It’s okay.”   
“Oh. That fire.”   
“News go fast.”    
“Not fast enough that I knew you were there. I just saw and smelled the smoke. What brings you here, then?”   
“A cut that I can’t reach. Back. It’s not deep, but I don’t want to bleed through my shirt at work.”   
“Those are the most sensible words I’ve ever heard from you.” Maggie’s words had been softer there, but they quickly reverted to her let’s-get-to-business tone. “Come, let’s take care of this. Quickly.”    
She turned at once, and guided him briskly through doors and corridors. 

 

To the crypt. 

 

“Sit.”    
Maggie busied herself towards the sink, picking up this and that, filling a small bowl with hot water.    
Finding himself in this place again brought a number of recent memories to the surface of Matt’s mind. Not that he had tried to erase them. He’d just tried to go back to a somewhat normal life - for him - until it was shaken again, now, with his father waking up. 

The smells, a mix of laundry, dust and mold, and faint traces of incense. The constant rumbling of the subway, tensing his nerves. The echo Maggie’s voice produced under the arched ceiling. All this brought him a couple of months back, and it wasn’t a pleasant journey.    
Matt stiffly sat on the bed that had been his. He was deeply uncomfortable, the cut in his back only one part of it. He swallowed noisily.    
  


“Come on. Shirt off. I don’t have all morning.”   
Matt complied with mechanical motions. Jacket first, tie, then shirt. He laid them neatly next to him on the bed. 

 

Maggie was already closing in on him. There was something about her… she was in a hurry, okay. But he felt some kind of distance, or rather some more distance than there had been the last time they’d met. He was getting to know her. He either had done something she wasn’t happy with, or  _ she _ had done something she wasn’t happy with.    
He frowned, but didn’t say anything. Better to come back another time for this. He, too, was in some kind of a hurry. 

 

Maggie’s hands were cold, freezing, but he tried not to react to them when they touched his skin. After all, he could sense them coming. 

 

Maggie got to work, expeditiously, in silence. Matt slowly relaxed, trying to tame the feelings that being there brought up in him. 

And then, Maggie talked.    
“I went to see your father.”    
Matt straightened his back, making her jab him with the needle. He groaned. 

“Sorry.”    
“When?”    
“Yesterday.” Maggie started working on his cut again. 

 

Matt got a weird flash of Karen using this exact setting to talk to him just hours prior. Didn’t they know there was no use to try and avoid talking to his face? 

 

“Or was it two days ago? You’d just been there.”    
“He probably told you -”    
“That you’ve been an idiot, yes.”   
“Yeah. I was.”    
“From what I got from him, he’s been terribly thick in the head himself, too. And he kind of knows he was.”   
Matt sighed. He didn’t want to have this kind of conversation with Maggie, of all people. But now that he was there...   
“He’s worried. It’s normal. Always been.”    
“I told him not to be.” 

  
This time, Matt turned his head towards her. What did she mean? Her heart spiked. 

“Stay still.” 

  
Don’t stare at me even if you can’t. That’s what that meant. 

Matt turned his head away. It didn’t change anything for him.

“What did you tell him?”    
He couldn’t help it. Even if he didn’t mean to, his voice was borderline threatening. It was also lower. It was more Daredevil’s voice than Matt Murdock’s. 

Maggie’s hands stopped moving, and her heart spiked yet again. 

She took a deep sigh and went on stitching - she was soon finished. 

"I told him… Matthew, he was frantic. I just wanted him to -" 

"What did you tell him?" He tried a more soothing voice. To a lukewarm effect. 

"I told him not to worry. I told him that there was… More to you than meets the eye. I think that's what I said. Might have mentioned boxing, too." 

Matt sniffed and swallowed. He waited until Maggie's hands were far enough from his skin to shift a little on the bed. 

It wasn't all. Maggie's hands came back, freezing his skin as well as the atmosphere. Her heart was still pounding, a deafening sound to Matt. It wasn't all. 

"What else did you tell him?" 

"I didn't  _ tell _ anything more."

"No, you did. Maggie, what did you say to my father?" 

Maggie made her last stitch, her hands slightly trembling. She cut the thread, and immediately got up, picking all her supplies with her and retreating towards the sink. 

"I told him you had… A calling."

"A  _ what _ ?" 

"A calling. Like mine. Except it wasn't religious. Not really."

"Okay."

 

Maggie turned towards him, the faucet still running over her bloodied hands. Her heart was pounding so fast. But she didn't say anything, simply stared at him. She probably expected him to burst. A part of him wanted to. A part of him was furious, enraged that she took the liberty to talk about him to his father. Especially her. 

 

But what could he do? It was too late. And he'd told this himself : no more lies. How long would he be able to keep his life secret to his father this way? Not long. Maybe it was even a good thing that someone else had planted the idea in Jack's mind. 

 

It was Matt's turn to take a deep breath. 

"Well. That's not… Totally wrong."

 

Maggie slowly turned back to face the sink, turning the water off, shaking her hands. It still wasn't all. If anything, she was even more tense now. 

Matt sat still. She came back with a patch to cover the stitches, placed it neatly on his back. Silently. Then she left, back to the sink again. Putting as much distance between them as she could. 

"You're good to go. Don't pull too much on it."

Matt stayed where he was. He didn't even put his shirt back on. He turned his head, following Maggie's moves. 

"I'm in a hurry, Matt."

"There's something else. There's something you're not telling me. About Dad. I can feel it. Sense it."

 

Maggie's sigh was shaking. 

Matt waited. He might have been in a relative hurry, but now this was all that counted. He could have waited hours if he had to. She had to talk. She owed him as much. 

She turned away from him, grasping the sink. He could hear the porcelain squeak under her skin. 

 

"There's something." Her voice was remarkably steady, considering the signs her body betrayed. Matt braced himself. "Something I should have done. And couldn't. I couldn't muster the strength. He asked me about it.” 

She stopped, and Matt could hear all the strength she needed  _ now _ , trying to answer this. Of course. He'd been expecting this, somewhere, somehow. He knew what she was talking about - what else could it be? 

But he couldn’t tell what the feelings that were roaring in his own guts were. 

Ugly feelings. 

Anger. Rage. A deep feeling of unfairness. 

 

“I didn't answer. He will ask you about it. What you do with it…what you tell him about it… is yours." 

 

Matt let out the breath he'd been holding, and it wasn't as steady as Maggie's voice. She expected fury, he expected fury. 

Fury grew… then died. 

There was none left. There'd been too much of it.    
He had a fugitive thought for Father Lantom. Would he wait for Maggie to die, too?

 

Slowly, Matt slid into his shirt, mulling his thoughts over. He took his time to put on his tie, starting over twice. Then the jacket, in which he took his glasses, and placed them on his nose. Only then did he get up, careful not to pull the fresh stitches. 

 

Maggie was still at the sink, her back to him. Matt tasted salt in the air. He walked towards her, careful to stay in the mirror's angle, not to startle her. She was practically vibrating, and it felt painful to him. He placed his hands, mustering his softest, lightest touch, on her shoulders. When he talked, he was relieved to hear there was no devil in his voice. Only Matt Murdock, son of Jack. 

And Maggie. 

 

"We still have a lot to untangle… But be certain of one thing." 

She raised her head. He almost felt her gaze through the mirror. He had to say it. He wasn't fully convinced of it. But he felt it was the right thing to do. 

"I forgive you."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry for the delay.   
> Life happened. Like a lot of life. I lost my job, found a new one, ended it, got a new one again, and got married in the meantime.   
> Sooooooo. Well. But now I'm back and I will try and write this more regularly !!!   
> So many many thanks for waiting.


End file.
